


Our Destiny

by UnicornFlowers (orphan_account)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, But I can't write sad endings so..., Heavy Angst, I must emphasize that this has a happy ending for both your and my sanities, Love, M/M, Pining, Reincarnation, Sakusa is Whipped, Volleyball, World War II, not beta read we die like (wo)men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:22:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26290330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/UnicornFlowers
Summary: "I promise Omi. It's just our destiny."
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 10
Kudos: 145





	Our Destiny

♡♢

Everything about Atsumu Miya was dreadfully beautiful. Stupidly beautiful. Like his stupid golden hair that had no right to be as damn soft as it was after the years of bleaching it. Like his stupid smile that had no right to be as wonderful as it was because he smiled at the dumbest things. At the dumbest jokes, things that weren't even meant to be funny. Like the stupid way he managed to invade Kiyoomi's personal space without the ace feeling the itching of his skin or the inherent disgust that came with most skin to skin contact. 

It was infuriating at best.

But what was even more infuriating than that was the fact that, despite what Kiyoomi had told himself years ago, it wasn't getting any fucking better. In fact, the problem was actually making itself worse just to spite him. 

For three years he'd ignored the tingling sensation in his fingertips and the way his cheeks caught on fire whenever Atsumu was close to him. He'd ignored it with a burning passion, and he'd been good at ignoring it too. But his feelings just dragged on, a tiring symphony of emotions that kept him up at night, tossing and turning thinking about the way Atsumu's body moved for a set.

And of course, because it was just his luck, they were sharing a room. It was common knowledge that Kiyoomi was a neat-freak, a germaphobe, whatever you wanted to call someone who actually had a grasp on their personal hygiene- at least, that's how Kiyoomi saw it. It was also common knowledge that there was a very specific way rooms were organized to keep the peace. For instance, Hinata could absolutely not be roomed with Bokuto because no one would get any sleep. And everyone knew that Atsumu was pretty much the only person suitable to room with Kiyoomi.

It wasn't like Kiyoomi had any particular fondness for the setter (at least that's what he told himself), but despite not seeming to have a grasp on a personal space bubble on-court, he was a highly agreeable spirit, unfazed somehow even when Kiyoomi was straight up a dick to him. 

If Kiyoomi were to be roomed with Hinata, for example, one or both of them would be going crazy by the end of the week. Hinata would probably be sobbing because he couldn't understand why Kiyoomi obsessively showered, and Kiyoomi would have murdered Hinata by Wednesday (not that anyone would ever know because the place would be as spotless as when they arrived).

So this was the best situation for all of them. But it was also a special type of hell that Kiyoomi had to endure every time they played an away game. Because Atsumu just didn't know how to shut up. He was always running his mouth and sometimes, even though Kiyoomi considered himself pretty low key, sometimes when it was late at night, he felt his brain splitting in half from the sheer amount of words coming from his roommate's mouth.

"Lemme guess, ya wanna shower first?" Kiyoomi eyed the blond as he kicked the door to their room closed, brushing a calloused hand through that golden hair of his. 

By now it was basically routine that Kiyoomi always showered first to avoid Atsumu getting his frat-boy-esque filth all over the one truly clean room in the place. Atsumu never seemed to mind. Honestly, if it wasn't for the way his jersey stuck to his muscular form, Kiyoomi had to assume Atsumu would forget to shower entirely.

The ace let out only the smallest grunt in response, depositing his bag on the bed by the window - _his bed._

It was his because it was clean with clean sheets that he washed himself and because it was by the window, away from the door, so that incoming strangers didn't get their dead skin cells and diseases all over his sleeping area.

When he stepped into the shower, he was thoroughly annoyed to find that the entire bathroom smelled like _him._ Kiyoomi always preferred to use soaps that had a very light scent, vaguely lemony, almost undetectable unless you were standing close to him (which you wouldn't be). But Atsumu did not have the same opinions about scents as was evidence by the smell of vanilla and raspberries that lingered, and something uniquely Atsumu. 

The combination was frustratingly intoxicating and annoyingly pleasant. And it stayed stuck to him, to the walls, to the fucking water, all the way through what was supposed to be a relaxing shower.

When he stepped out of the shower, clad in a thin t-shirt and sweatpants, he was met with the sight of Atsumu having stripped of his shirt, phone in hand, letting out a little yelp as he almost dropped it on his face. _Idiot._

Kiyoomi's thoughts were forced as he tried to tear his eyes away from Atsumu's toned abs and broad chest and perfectly tanned skin. He tried to stop looking at Atsumu's tongue poking between his lips in a concerted effort not to break his nose with his own phone. It was getting increasingly difficult. And then he had to sit up, resting his weigh on his fists as his messed up hair flopped lazily over one eye. The image was oddly familiar, like he was experiencing déjà vu.

"Goddamn, took you long enough Omi Omi. Thought I was gonna die of old age just waitin' for ya."

Kiyoomi felt dizzy at his statement. Not at the actual content of what he was saying. But there was something about it, the words, maybe, the syllables, the inflection, that made the room spin and the ground suddenly come up beneath him as his mind and body lost the battle to stay upright.

_"Goddamn, took you long enough Omi Omi. Thought I was gonna die of old age just waitin' for ya."_

_"What a blessing that would've been."_

He heard it. He felt it. Whatever _it_ was. Like a memory he couldn't... _remember._

A hand dipped around his waist and warm fingers pressed to the nape of his neck, a single point of contact rooting him to reality as the rest of the world spun out of control. He couldn't tell if his eyes were open or closed, he couldn't tell if things had stopped spinning yet. But he could feel warm skin beneath his fingers and the smell...raspberries and vanilla and something left unnamed, it was there. It was all he could really focus on at the moment.

"Fuck- Omi Omi, I'm sorry I had to touch ya- are ya okay? What'd I do? Was it something ya- Do I need to call someone?" A frantic rush of words left Atsumu's mouth but Kiyoomi couldn't focus on a single one of them, even as Atsumu continued to babble on in a mindless panic, Kiyoomi didn't have the words to tell him he was perfectly fine. Maybe he wasn't? Was he sick? Was he dying? "Yer gonna be fine Omi, I'mma get you a glass of water an-"

The feeling of Atsumu unhooking his hand from Kiyoomi's waist was deafening and the aces mind stopped functioning momentarily, all conscious thoughts, all rational and reasoning being replaced by a hungry feeling, a desprate sort of need just to- _no_. 

His hand reached out to catch the blond's wrist in a steel grip as he tried to pull away. Kiyoomi didn't even know what he was trying to do. What was his end goal? He didn't even know what was going through his brain because either his thoughts were too frantic and scattered to hold onto, or they had left him entirely.

 _Don't go_. 

If the words were on his tongue or at the edge of his mind, Kiyoomi couldn't tell, but something about the way his head dipped into the crook of Atsumu's neck, lips moving against his skin that smelled so _fucking_ good, it was surreal. Kiyoomi couldn't tell what was happening just that he couldn't really breath and the room was collapsing and the world was falling apart at the seams and-

Atsumu's hand pressed back into his side spreading a comforting feeling, a grounding feeling through Kiyoomi's body. If he was thinking straight right now, he would be pushing away his sweat-covered roommate, his skin would itch with the familiar feeling of disgust, his entire body would be on fire, probably. But right now it was just warm, safe and warm and- _ah, yes. That's it._

Everything was just as it was supposed to be. _Just as it always was,_ his brain supplied, though he didn't know what it meant. This had never happened before. 

"Omi Omi, what's going on?" Just like it was Atsumu's voice that had snapped him out of reality, it was his voice that brought him back. His uncharacteristically soft tone and the way his adam's apple moved and the way his calloused fingers held Kiyoomi like he couldn't let go, were like a punch to the stomach, a painful reminder of what was really going on around him.

Kiyoomi's eyes snapped open, hands suddenly releasing the bruising hold they had on Atsumu's wrist and his bicep, mouth dropping open in a horrible moment of realization. 

_What was he doing?_ He waited for the feeling of disgust, of filth to hit him. And when it didn't, he jolted at the sensation, giving a stark shove to Atsumu's chest and causing him to fall backward against the side of Kiyoomi's bed. _This is wrong_ , his brain told him, but his body refused to believe it.

He was going to have to wash those sheets later.

Kiyoomi's breathing was labored, a hand coming up to rake through his raven curls as he stared at the setter across from him who was completely shocked. 

Well, shocked didn't even begin to describe the expression on Atsumu's face. You'd be hardpressed to find a time in Atsumu's life here he was completely speechless because he almost never ran out of things to say. Not even when there was literally nothing interesting to talk about, he was still running his mouth. But right now, right now he didn't have any words. What was happening? Was his roommate sick? Was he hurt?

Kiyoomi didn't even have the presence of mind to feel guilty about the dark bruises splayed across Atsumu's skin because he didn't have the words himself. It was always a matter of the words being on the tip of his tongue but never getting spoken for fear of breaking something he couldn't fix. But now, they just weren't there.

"Ya want another shower?"

Breathless, Kiyoomi stumbled to the bathroom, mind racing too fast to comprehend just how patient Atsumu was being with him. 

He doesn't want another shower, in fact. He doesn't need one. 

He takes one anyway.  
  
  


-  
  
  


_"Ya know, yer real lucky yer parents are rich," Kiyoomi turned his head to his best friend, confusion taking purchase in his eyes._

_As rational as the statement sounded, he couldn't imagine why. He would kill to have normal parents. If he could trade lives for a single day with Atsumu, he would give his right arm. But he didn't say this out loud, preferring to settle for a questioning, "oh?" Atsumu just inhaled deeply, a characteristically boyish smile growing on his features as he did._

_"I mean...ya don't have to go to war, so that's a plus."_

_Kiyoomi had been waiting for that. The subject of drafting wasn't so much an elephant in the room as it was a dark cloud of ash hanging over the earth. Kiyoomi knew that they had to discuss it sooner or later, but he'd been putting it off as much for his own sanity as for Atsumu's._

_I mean really, who wanted to talk about a death sentence? Because that's what it was, right?_

_"We're all at war."_

_Atsumu had turned eighteen one month ago. Imagine the chances. Out of all the times to have something as monumental as your eighteenth birthday, Atsumu just got unlucky enough to have it during wartime._

_Instead of a cake and presents, he'd be receiving a draft letter by mail. Sure, his family would be insurmountably proud of him (apparently running off to die was an honor), but it wasn't exactly the celebration he was hoping for, if he was being honest._

_"Yeah, okay, but I mean, ya don't have to fight," That much was true._

_Being filthy rich had its benefits and Kiyoomi couldn't say without lying that he actually wanted to fight in a war. But he didn't like talking about this._

_He refused to admit to himself that he loved or even liked Atsumu Miya, an annoying, way too talkative, little ball of energy who seemed to stick to Kiyoomi like a thorn in his side. And he refused to acknowledge the ache that lodged itself somewhere deep in his chest._

_A few times, he'd let himself imagine that they could run away and Atsumu would never had to wield a weapon, but those were just fantasies and the real world was much more of a selfish bitch. Always taking._

_"Hey," The tone of the entire conversation suddenly took a dramatic shift as Atsumu flipped himself onto his stomach in the emerald grass. His golden hair was being blown messily every which way by the breeze and his soft smile against the backdrop of an endless blue sky and snow-white clouds was picturesque. Kiyoomi struggled to pay attention, forcing himself to focus on Atsumu's unsteady words as he said, "Can ya make me a promise?"_

_Kiyoomi was scared to know what it was Atsumu hoped to lock him into, but despite the fear, he locked eyes with him, the sincerity of 'anything' locked behind his dark eyes. And maybe Kiyoomi Sakusa refused to let himself believe he would do anything for Atsumu, but some things just slipped out of your control like that._

_"If I...die, remember me forever, 'kay?" Kiyoomi didn't like that. He didn't like that at all._

_It made his chest ache and it stole the air from his lungs and he couldn't even look at Atsumu in that moment. He refused to believe that there was even a possibility of Atsumu getting hurt. He refused to believe there was the slightest chance the annoying, golden-haired boy wouldn't be by his side at the end of all this._

_"No."_

_"What? No?! Omi Omi you're so mean!" Atsumu swatted his best friend's shoulder._

_He was right about that. But Kiyoomi's words were a badly executed lie._

_Obviously, he would remember Atsumu forever, but he wouldn't need to because Atsumu would be right there with him, cracking bad jokes and laughing at them despite their inherent un-funniness._

_Atsumu would be right there with him at Christmas time, normally golden tanned skin flushed with the cold, eyes wide and reflecting the glare of a thousand Christmas lights._

_Atsumu would be there when the war ended to tell him all the stories and Kiyoomi would be there to listen. That's how it was going to be, Kiyoomi decided._

_"Forever is a long time."_   
  
  


_-_   
  
  


Atsumu didn't mention the bruises to the rest of the team. 

Kiyoomi was sure everyone saw them, blooming dark and almost somberly beautiful across his pristine skin, but he was also sure they were picturing a girl clawing at him while he fucked her into the ground. Not Kiyoomi Sakusa holding onto his stupidly beautiful teammate like his life depended on it while he had a complete breakdown. 

If there was one thing you could call Atsumu Miya a saint for, it was the fact that he didn't correct them.

"Omi Omi, ya should really learn to relax a little. Do ya know how tense ya look?" Atsumu remarked Tuesday night as he sat on his bed across from the ace, who had his nose buried in a book. 

The room was probably too dark to be reading, but Kiyoomi couldn't find it in himself to care. Plus, something in him didn't want to risk changing how Atsumu looked right then - high cheekbones and lips Kiyoomi was sure tasted sweet like he always smelled highlighted by the pale blue-light coming from his laptop, round reading glasses perched on the edge of his nose. It was almost perfect. It _was_ perfect.

Kiyoomi grunted in response, a delayed reaction, and he cursed his thoughts for derailing him, choosing instead to focus back on the words of his book. 

How Atsumu could even tell that his muscles hurt like someone was running an electric current through them was beyond Kiyoomi, but he wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of admitting he was right.

"Ya could always go see Iwaizumi. I'm sure he'd give ya a massage, loosen ya up a little," Kiyoomi wrinkled his nose at the idea. 

He had always hated massages, and as accommodating as their trainer had been the one (1) time Kiyoomi had gone to see him, he still couldn't get over the feeling of someone else's hands on him. It was gross. Filthy. That and he didn't know how to respond when Iwaizumi talked about his equal parts beautiful and annoying fiancee. How could Kiyoomi relate to that? He'd never even been in a relationship let alone actually learned how to talk about them.

The ace just shot Atsumu a look that made it painfully obvious just how good of an idea that was and Atsumu held his hands up in surrender. 

"I was just tryina help." _I don't want your help._ Kiyoomi wanted to say, but the perfectly normal phrase he should just be able to say to Atsumu without feeling weird about it got lodged in his throat. No, it couldn't be. Was he actually worried about making Atsumu _upset?_ Kiyoomi brushed the thought from his mind as quickly as it had materialized.

"Seriously, yer not gonna be able to move in the morning," Atsumu warned, causing Kiyoomi's lips to pull into a frown and his eyebrows to furrow slightly. 

Why did he even care? Why was he so insistent on getting Kiyoomi to pay attention to his aching muscles? If it became an outstanding problem, the ace would deal with it himself. He shot the blond across from him a look, one that was somewhere in between annoyance and skepticism. Hey, no one ever claimed that Kiyoomi was nice. People just assumed he must not be a jerk because he didn't talk that much. What a wrong assumption.

"Why do you care?"

"Cuz I'm yer friend, asshole," Atsumu reacted to his tone immediately, a pout that was unfairly adorable materializing on his lips. One that Kiyoomi told himself was annoying, the bane of his fucking existence. And in a way, it was, but not for the reasons he convinced himself of. "And if ya suck tomorrow, it drags the whole team down. C'mon, at least lemme rub yer shoulders or something. Ya look like a goddamn statue." 

Kiyoomi reeled at how easily the words fell from his lips. How was he just so easily able to ask for something like that without the slightest hint of embarrassment? Kiyoomi told himself he'd rather die than let Atsumu touch him in that way, but he also knew Atsumu wasn't going to let him rest.

"Will you leave me alone if I say yes?"

"Done deal," Atsumu said brightly, shutting his laptop before proceeding to go to the bathroom and wash his hands. 

By now, it was just second nature to lather them up with strawberry-scented handsoap before even trying to get near Kiyoomi. And Atsumu didn't mind. The soap smelled like candy and hygiene was important, right? Kiyoomi adjusted himself so he was sitting on the edge of his bed with his back facing the door.

There was barely a moment between when Kiyoomi heard the bathroom light click off and when he felt warm hands suddenly on his shoulders. 

He tensed at first before easing into the sensation (much to his internal dismay). Where was the disgust? Where was the itchy feeling his skin got, like he'd just been mosquito-bitten everywhere? Where was the horrible filthy feeling like a layer of grim sticking to him? Kiyoomi waited for it to hit, for it to become instantly unbearable, but it didn't. 

Usually, that's how massages worked for Kiyoomi. It lasted until he couldn't take it anymore and then he left with muttered apologies. But it wasn't happening this time. All he could feel was the almost aching pleasure of Atsumu's warm hands easing away the knots in his muscles, rubbing small circles into his shoulders with an expert sort of precision.

"Better?" Kiyoomi could hear the smugness in his voice radiating and he wanted to object, tell him that it was a horrible feeling and that his skilled fingers pressing between his shoulder blades weren't helping in the slightest. But all that came out was,

"Hm."   
  
  


-  
  
  


_"Now, look, I'm not saying I don't want ya to defend my honor. But ya really shouldn't get into fights, Omi Omi," The raven-haired boy looked away from his friend, doing his best not to react to the sting as he pressed a pink bandaid to a cut on Kiyoomi's cheek._

So what? _Kiyoomi thought bitterly. Who cared if he got into a fight or not? He was just a prissy rich boy. His parents would fix it, right? And as if he was just going to let some unrefined swines talk shit about his best friend. If they knew...if they knew Atsumu, they wouldn't say things like that. If they knew Atsumu they..._

_"Who cares?" Kiyoomi grunted out stubbornly as Atsumu dabbed a wet washcloth to the corner of his bleeding mouth._

_His words caused the blond to stop his crusade on the persistent little cuts that littered the boy's face and neck where the gravel had come up underneath him suddenly and without warning._

_Atsumu blinked those beautiful eyes at him, confusion taking purchase in his steely irises. It was unfair, honestly, how easily Kiyoomi came undone with a single look._

_"I care Omi Omi," The blond said it like it was the obvious answer and Kiyoomi just about lost it._

_Of course, he cared. He was always taking care of Kiyoomi. But what about when he wasn't there to care? Who would care then? Who would clean up his wounds and tell him not to get into fights? Who would put stupid pink bandaids on his face? Who would replace Atsumu? The terrifying answer was the clearest one. No one. No one would ever replace Atsumu which is why Kiyoomi was totally fucked._

_"And what about when you're not here?"_

Who cares then? _He wanted to spit out bitterly, but the words were lodged in his throat, stuck behind a wall of tears that threatened to singe his retinas if he didn't hastily blink them away. Atsumu seemed unfazed, even putting on a pretty little smile for his best friend, almost condescending as if he knew the answer to that one already. A smile Kiyoomi wanted to kiss off his stupid face._

_"Well, I'm always gonna be here, Omi Omi," That made Kiyoomi beyond angry. Why couldn't he just say it out loud? He wasn't always going to be there. He was leaving and Kiyoomi couldn't do anything about it and it made him mad. It made him want to scream. And he did. "Yer funny sometimes you kn-"_

_"No you're not! Why are you just pretending like everything is okay!?" Kiyoomi's words came out strangled and clipped, his carefully held control quickly disintegrating as he tried to stop his heart from breaking in half._

_It was a truly horrible feeling. Kiyoomi didn't understand what mother nature had in mind when it created the emotion he was experiencing now, something in between sadness and anger and contempt and heartbreak, but it must've been having a bad day._

_"You just talk about it like it's normal that- That I could- That you could...Aren't you scared?!"_

_There was a long, scary silence. Neither Atsumu nor Kiyoomi could remember a time when he talked to much at once. It was always one-word answers or short sentences because everything Kiyoomi needed to communicate to Atsumu was in his eyes. Whether it was a storm or blinding sunshine, Atsumu knew he could find it in the glances Kiyoomi sent him._

_Words were hardly needed. But now he was saying them and that combined with the pain manifesting itself in Kiyoomi's expression was almost overwhelming._

_"What do ya want me to do Omi Omi? Cry?" Atsumu said finally after a long pause._

_Nothing but silence hung between his words as Kiyoomi waited for his unfinished sentiment to come to a close. Atsumu had never been a particularly poetic guy, his words were simple and easy-going and relaxed. He wasn't one for nostalgia either. He preferred to always be looking forward. To the next path, the next step, the next adventure. But sometimes he was sentimental. Only for one person though._

_"I'm not scared cuz I know you'll be here waiting for me."_

  
  


_-_   
  
  


Wednesday was an absolute wreck. 

An almost painful amount of serving drills combined with the aching of his muscles had Kiyoomi ready to turn into Jell-O by the end of practice. If only he'd let Atsumu keep running his hands over the tense muscles of his back instead of chickening out when they reached his shoulders, maybe he wouldn't be in so much excruciating pain. He lemented. But his choice had been made and he sure as hell wasn't giving Atsumu the satisfaction of seeing him squirm.

"Ya shoulda let me work on yer back Omi Omi," Atsumu chided him in the locker room between reprimanding clicks of his tongue. 

The rest of the team had headed out already, leaving Atsumu to make sure Kiyoomi didn't get left behind while obsessively scrubbing an invisible layer of grime from his body in the shower. Kiyoomi just sent him a quick glare as he slipped his shirt over his head. Atsumu was right, but hell if Kiyoomi was going to admit that to himself, let alone to Atsumu's face. 

"I can see yer suffering."

"Miya, please shut up." Kiyoomi was not in the mood for Atsumu's teasing at the moment. Really all he wanted was to fall into the uncomfortable hotel bed and sleep. He didn't even care if he ate dinner beforehand. He wasn't hungry regardless. "You really don't know how annoying you are, do you?"

"Sticks and stones, Omi Omi," Atsumu was carefully walking along the benches in the locker room like a five-year-old as Kiyoomi picked up his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. 

_The idiot is going to get himself killed._ Kiyoomi released a soundless huff as he absentmindedly watched his teammate poke his tongue between his lips to stay focused. The ace just shook his head, pulling out his phone as he heard it buzz with a notification.

As if on subconscious instinct, Kiyoomi stuck out a single hand to support Atsumu's waist when the blond teetered ever so slightly. It was jsut a passing action - Kiyoomi hadn't even realized he'd done it - but it caused both of them to stop short as if the world had suddenly stopped rotating.

Kiyoomi immediately pulled his hand back, so jarringly quickly that Atsumu actually did fall off the bench just out of surprise. Right into Kiyoomi's arms, as a matter of fact. I mean, the ace wasn't just going to let his setter slip and die, right? At least, that's how Kiyoomi rationalized having one arm under Atsumu's legs while the other wrapped almost protectively around his back. 

That's how he rationalized the fact that he was still holding onto him like they were still in the moment Atsumu fell even after it was long gone. 

That's how he rationalized suddenly dropping Atsumu when he felt liquid fire rush to his cheeks.

"Ow- fuck Omi!" Atsumu's grunt was dissatisfied and pained as he rubbed his hip and pouted up at Kiyoomi with that adorably horrible look on his face, the one that made Kiyoomi's mind race and his heart rate speed up. God, this man would be the death of him. All he could do was bark out,

"Don't be an idiot next time."  
  
  


-  
  
  


_"Goddamn, took you long enough, Omi Omi. Thought I was gonna die of old age just waitin' for ya," Atsumu was sitting on their rock when Kiyoomi arrived._

_It was a boulder embedded in the middle of the forest, out of place compared to the rest of the scenery. But it was their rock. They'd discovered it when they were just kids and it brought back a lot of memories that Kiyoomi didn't want to admit he held so dear._

_When they were kids, it had felt like an island just because of how big it was. But now it was just big enough to fit both of them comfortably with the smallest amount of space between them._

_"What a blessing that would've been," They'd agreed to meet the day before Atsumu was supposed to get on the train to wherever it was they sent you to give you the cursory couple of weeks of training before they sent you off to fight a war you shouldn't have been a part of in the first place._

_If Kiyoomi hadn't felt the ever-present ache in his chest before, he could definitely feel it now as he watched Atsumu stare out across the empty forest. There was an emotion in his eyes Kiyoomi wasn't smart enough to put a name to. For all his good grades, he was woefully lacking in that particular department._

_"Ouch! Omi Omi you really are mean," Atsumu sighed out, the usual bounce gone from his voice._

_Kiyoomi could hear it in his voice, the weight, how heavy it was on his mind. The raven-haired man wanted to make a comment about how he was finally thinking for once, but he couldn't seem to get the words out because they were stuck stubbornly in his throat. He wanted to say so much more too, but those thoughts would probably forever remain his and only his. It was too terrifying a prospect to think they might not._

_"Ya know, I can't help but wonder what's gonna happen after all this? Things can't just go back to normal, ya know?" Kiyoomi didn't feel like making small talk about the war. People had posed that question so many times that it was becoming almost as mundane as asking about the weather, a way of avoiding the reality they lived in._

_"Say what you mean, Atsumu," Kiyoomi commanded lowly._

_His dark eyes shot down to where Atsumu's hand was traveling dangerously close to his own, but the golden-haired boy didn't seem to notice, or he pretended not to, at least. And Kiyoomi sure as hell wasn't going to bring it up. He focused his attention back on the sigh Atsumu was giving him._

_The raven-haired boy was tired of dancing around the truth, pretending Atsumu wasn't going anywhere, pretending everything was normal. It killed him how much easier it had been to convince himself that Atsumu was always going to be by his side when it was all so far away. When it was a prospect off in the distance, it was easy to let go of anxieties, worries, because you were in the present, and every moment was a gift and hell if you were going to waste it._

_But Kiyoomi felt the air slipping away from him. The world slowing, the minutes falling through his fingers like loose change. Because it wasn't a future problem anymore. If he could make it a future problem, even just for a few more days, he would give the entire world, all of himself, and then some, but he couldn't._

_What could he do other than watch his life play out for him?_

_"Fine... I don't think I'm coming home, Omi Omi," There was a dreadful silence that followed and Kiyoomi felt like he couldn't breathe._

No. No. _No, Atsumu had to be coming back. He was going to do whatever the stupid fucking government told him he had to and then he was going to come home and be with Kiyoomi again and they could sit on their rock and look at the clouds and Atsumu could talk about whatever random nothingness came to his mind and Kiyoomi would listen with rapt attention while he pretended not to give a damn because that's how it always was. And that's how it had to be._

_Or else...what was even the point?_

_"Don't say that," The words slipped from Kiyoomi's lips before he could stop them, the pain manifesting itself in his voice and the tears that prickled at the corners of his eyes as he turned to Atsumu with an almost desperate sort of sadness._

_They were so much closer now. Kiyoomi didn't even know when it happened. He didn't know when Atsumu's pinky had curled around his own. He didn't know when their shoulders had pressed against each other. But he leaned into it, resisting the idea that it might not happen again. And their lips were so close, inches away from each other, their eyes locking._

_"You're not allowed to say that."_

_Then their lips were touching, pressed together softly at first, a gentle, sweet kiss as light as the clouds they watched together on windy afternoons. A soft kiss that turned hard and needy and desperate, with Atsumu's calloused fingers gripping and tangling with Kiyoomi's, with his free hand coming up to the nape of Kiyoomi's neck to pull him impossibly closer. Kiyoomi's free hand gripped Atsumu's wrist, so hard he worried it might leave a bruise, but Atsumu didn't care._

_And Kiyoomi pressed closer because Atsumu tasted like sunshine and windy days and white clouds painted across an endless expanse of blue. He tasted like rocket pops on grueling summer days and running through the sprinklers. He tasted like holding hands while they fell asleep and gold engagement rings and an apartment in New York City where Kiyoomi could make art like he loved and Atsumu could make the music pouring from his very being. He tasted like a future Kiyoomi would never get to have._

_Atsumu pulled away when he tasted the bitter saltiness of tears on Kiyoomi's lips, a calloused thumb instinctively swiping over the tear-stained area, and the raven-haired boy leaned into the contact, savoring every second of something so perfect he could lose at a moments notice._

_Why now? Why did it have to be now? They could've been born at any time in the history of the world and he knew they would find each other. But why did it have to be now?_

_"Tell me you'll come back to me." Kiyoomi dipped his head into the crook of Atsumu's neck, indulging the aching, burning urge to cry as he held onto Atsumu's hand tangled in his hair._

_Even if there was no sincerity behind them, even if Atsumu didn't believe them himself, even if it was just a pretty little lie to stop his tears, Kiyoomi needed to hear Atsumu say the words._

_"I promise Omi. It's just our destiny."_

_Kiyoomi didn't believe in destiny or fate. He didn't believe that the world was scripted that way, he refused to because he wanted to think that he had some say in the way his life played out, that it wasn't all just the work of some unseen power, that it wasn't all just inconsequential in the end._

_But right now, right now Kiyoomi wanted to believe, even if it killed him, even if it went against everything he'd been taught in life. He wanted to believe in destiny. He wanted to believe it was on their side._

  
  


_-_   
  
  


Thursday morning started with the vague memory of a kiss Kiyoomi couldn't quite place. One in his dreams where the face was clear, the hands were rough and desperate, one that he could feel in his very body but he couldn't quite say why. 

Dreams were always strange, random things like, truly, who dreams of kissing their teammate? And was it wrong that he couldn't even manage to be ashamed of it? It was good. It was sweet. And there was no context behind it, but Kiyoomi could feel it. He wanted it. He wanted that.

But he didn't say this out loud. He didn't even mention it to anyone because who was he going to tell this to? He couldn't trust someone that much. And the one person he might (MIGHT) trust enough with a secret so monumental was the very one he was keeping a secret from.

It was bad too. He spent the entire day fucking up easy serves and missing shots he could've aced, always distracted by that dopey smile and the messy golden hair that stuck out in his dreams brighter than the sun itself. 

No matter how he twisted his body, his eyes always ended up on _him._

Stupid Atsumu Miya with the golden hair that was way too soft. 

Stupid Atsumu Miya who haunted his dreams with sweet touches and soft kisses. 

Stupid Atsumu Miya whose smile was like the sun, who's calloused hands were the only ones Kiyoomi wanted to touch. 

Stupid _fucking_ Atsumu Miya who smelled like raspberries and vanilla, who wouldn't let him just focus for one goddamn second-

"Ow! Dammit!" A perfectly set up jump serve landed squarely and accidentally on the back of Atsumu's head, causing shame to blossom in the pit of Kiyoomi's stomach. That's what he got for being distracted, for being stupid. 

But, Kiyoomi reasoned, he couldn't be entirely to blame when Atsumu insisted on existing the way he did, with a charm and level of charisma that could make a god weak in the knees. The perfect combination of physically stunning and adorably stupid. Kiyoomi didn't feel like dealing with this today. He couldn't. It was too much.

So, he muttered some quick, very necessary apologies before escaping (maybe a little too hurridly) to the locker room. 

Kiyoomi just needed to breathe. He just needed a breath, a breath away from Atsumu who was perfect still in his radiance, even in a pile on the floor, clutching the back of his head with a slightly pained whine. Because the air in the room was suddenly being stolen by an invisible force he couldn't see. 

He leaned against the lockers, cursing the feeling of filth that coated his exposed forearms and wishing he had the mind to do something about it. But his body refused to move, refused to budge from the position it was in.

He could still feel the imprint of Atsumu's lips against his. He could taste the sweet vanilla flavor of his tongue and he could feel the calloused fingers in his hair, intertwining with his own. And there was nothing else in the picture. Nothing except him and Atsumu and the rest faded into the background, beautifully muted against the outline of their bodies, connected by the lips...

Kiyoomi startled at the feeling of a hand on his back, warm and sturdy. His body reacted before he really had the chance to process what was happening, hand reaching up to grip a familiarly bruised wrist. He flinched when his fingers ran over the darkened skin, releasing Atsumu the second he managed a glance upward to see his face. 

The blond looked at him with a special kind of care reserved only for Kiyoomi and the ace wanted to scream. He had to stop that. He just had to stop.

"Omi Omi, what's going on?" The setter's voice was so soft that it barely registered in Kiyoomi's brain as his. Atsumu was rarely ever soft about anything, and when he was, it was usually unintentional. But now was different and it was scary. Why couldn't they go back to being what they were before? Roommates who didn't like each other. "Talk to me."

"No."  
  
  


-  
  
  


_Atsumu looked too perfect and Kiyoomi didn't like it._

_Why did he look like that?_

_Kiyoomi didn't like the way his shirt was buttoned up all the way, tucked neatly into dress slacks as if he were going to come kind of party. He was supposed to be running around barefoot with his shirt buttoned down just enough so that it was a little sleazy._

_He didn't like how Atsumu's golden hair was neatly gelled and combed back. It was supposed to be messy and wild, like Atsumu, ever-untamed, and beautiful because of it._

_He didn't like the smile that Atsumu wore because it wasn't his real one. It wasn't the beautiful balance between mischievous and pure. It was formal and elegant. It was all wrong._

_"Well, guess I'll be seein' ya then, Omi Omi," Kiyoomi couldn't tell if his parents knew, or his brother._

_Atsumu kept their bodies close. Too close to be just friends but close enough to hide how their hands looped together, how Atsumu nervously fiddled with Kiyoomi's fingertips. And Kiyoomi wanted to lean down and kiss him, but Atsumu pulled away. Kiyoomi didn't blame him. He couldn't do it either._

_Kissing goodbye was just a little too much, just enough to tip the scales. Because they called it a goodbye kiss for a reason, and Kiyoomi wasn't ready to say goodbye yet._

_"You better," Was Kiyoomi's answer, dead serious without a hint of humor. Because truly, Kiyoomi thought, he had better come home._

_Because as they stood on the platform, amongst the families waving their sons goodbye, smothering them in hugs and kisses, girls tucking small keepsakes into the pockets of their boyfriends or husbands, Kiyoomi couldn't imagine him not stepping off that train. He refused to._

_So they didn't hug or kiss goodbye. Instead, Atsumu supplied him with,_

_"I love you, Kiyoomi." And then he was gone._

_Not forever though. Because he couldn't be. Because Kiyoomi didn't get to say it back. They had unfinished business._

  
  


_-_   
  
  


_The letter arrived by mail some months later._

_Kiyoomi hadn't really been counting because he knew counting would only ruin him further. Counting would only make the nights he laid awake in bed with his knees clutched to his chest and burning tears streaming down his face feel longer._

_The days still dragged out, but he refused to count them, just like he refused to talk about the war even though it was everywhere. Just like he refused to even look at a calendar. Just like he refused to go to the woods, or lay in their favorite field and watch the clouds, or eat rocket pops or anything that reminded him of Atsumu. Because when Atsumu came home, he wouldn't have to remember him. They would make new memories to hold onto._

_It was funny how quickly something as strong as hope, as love, could be beaten down and broken in half by something as small and inconsequential as fancy words written in an inky type-writer font._

_Maybe funny is the wrong word. Maybe sad. Maybe somber. Maybe devastating._

_Maybe something more along the lines of soul-crushing._

_Words and phrases like, 'we're sorry' and 'our prayers' and 'in our hearts and souls' and 'his bravery' made Kiyoomi's stomach burn, made his vision blur, made the world start spinning._

_It made his mind go blank and his legs give out and the world stopped rotating on its axis and time stopped and the air ceased to be breathable. And he was so angry. He was so blindingly angry._

_He was so angry that the deafening crash of an expensive vase against marble floors sounded muted and silent._

_Kiyoomi was so angry that he couldn't see anything but blurs of crimson red staining his hands as he melted to the ground with silent sobs tearing from his chest._

_He was so angry that the pain stinging his palms was numbing._

_He was so angry that neat words scrawled across a page were supposed to equal Atsumu's worth. That a loopy signature from a man he'd never met was supposed to fix it all._

_God damn the man who invented war._

_"Atsumu," The cursed name fell from his lips strangled. "ATSUMU YOU SAID YOU WOULD COME BACK TO ME! YOU PROMISED YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE," He couldn't breathe. Or more like his body refused to. "You said it was our destiny."_

_Our destiny._

_"I promise Omi. It's just our destiny."_

_I promise Omi. It's just our destiny._

_I promise Omi._

_Omi!_

"Omi Omi wake up!"

Kiyoomi startled back to the present on a gasp, vision blurred, hot tears streaking his face as his hands trembled against the wrinkled of his bed. 

That's right. 

The hotel. 

Practice. 

Volleyball. 

The Jackals.

Atsumu. 

His throat felt dry, his lips stung, raw and sensitive from being bitten and chewed on. His entire body felt weak and shaky. And Kyoomi felt raw and exposed and scared. He was so scared. _Atsumu._

"Omi, what's going on? Yer crying, Omi look at me," Kiyoomi did. 

His eyes landed on those soft lips and those high cheekbones and those steely eyes and the furrow of his eyebrows and the wild nature of his golden hair, messed up from sleep that Kiyoomi could only assume he'd woken him from. And Kiyoomi's hands reached out for him before his brain could protest, not that he would listen to it if it got the chance.

Kiyoomi's hands tangled into Atsumu's hair, fingers curling at the nape of his neck as he pulled the setter in impossibly close to him, so he could feel his heart beating, so he could smell vanilla and raspberries and whatever it was that made Atsumu Miya smell like Atsumu Miya. His hands were all over him, on his shoulders, on his back, in his hair as Kiyoomi leaned into the crook of his neck. Because he couldn't stop himself from indulging in the reality of it all. He was real and he was there. Atsumu Miya was there with him.

"You promised you'd come back. You said it was our destiny," Kiyoomi could only mutter against Atsumu's neck, his voice impossibly thick with sleep but his body unable to relax, unable to stop trembling. He wasn't sure Atsumu had even heard what he said, but the setter wrapped his arms around the ace. Pulling them together and holding him close as Kiyoomi sighed against his neck, not contently, but desperately, like he was scared the golden-haired boy might disappear at any moment. "Atsumu, do you still love me?"

Kiyoomi couldn't bring himself to care how his tone sounded, if he sounded pathetic, weak, pliant, desperate. Because he was all of those things. He just needed an answer, the past meshing with the future becoming distorted and terrifying. He was so scared.

"Still love you? ...Omi Omi, I've always loved you." 

The setter's voice was impossibly soft as he stroked a calloused hand through Kiyoomi's hair, pressing soft, loving kisses to the taller man's temple. If there was a moment when Kiyoomi had given Atsumu free liberty to be as physically affectionate as he pleased, he had missed it, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Because it felt good and he felt safe in Atsumu's arms with his lips pressed to his temple and his thumb stroking circles into the small of his back.

"I love you too, Atsumu," The whisper tainting his voice was pressed against Atsumu's adam's apple as he held the golden-haired man close. And he, for once in his life, let the words on the tip of his tongue spill into his voice and fill the space between them. "Please...please don't leave me."

"Of course I'm not gonna leave ya Omi Omi. We're gonna be together forever, like always," Obviously, Kiyoomi knew he was talking about volleyball. Together like always, a setter and his ace. But Kiyoomi didn't have the mind to care because the sincerity behind Atsumu's words was all-consuming. And it let Kiyoomi finally relax against the blond's muscular chest. And Kiyoomi let himself wonder, just briefly if _his_ Atsumu tasted like rocket pops and sunshine too. 

"It's like, our destiny."   
  
  


☾ ⋆*·ﾟ:⋆*·ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:·ﾟ .: ⋆*·ﾟ: .⋆

**Author's Note:**

> holy shit that's the longest thing I've ever written in the span of six hours. not even gonna lie it was so much fun though and i'm currently drowning in sakuatsu so i had to. 
> 
> thank you for reading <3 
> 
> ~ unicorn-flowers


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